She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. The movie droned on, the sounds becoming manageable except for the frequent high-pitched screams of young girls when a poltergeist manifestation would leap out of a shadow. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world.
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